My Coy Mistress
by Dinkley
Summary: What if he hadn't refused her request? Rated M for sMuttish content. Kind of sequel to "Thoughts back home". Enjoy!


_Sequel of "Thoughts back home", but it can be read independently. Post ep 2x03. Enjoy!_**  
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**My Coy Mistress**

_Had we but world enough, and time,  
>This coyness, Lady, were no crime.<br>We would sit down, and think which way  
>To walk, and pass our long love's day.<br>Thou by the Indian Ganges' side  
>Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide<br>Of Humber would complain. _

Andrew Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress"

_- It's not against the law to take a mistress, Mr Bates _

And then my whole rational world fell apart.

I should have said no; I should have made her understand that it was wrong. She was a lady and I should have respected her until the day we could be together rightfully, as man and wife.

But apparently, I didn't know how stubborn she could be.

When she appeared that night at my door, I shouldn't have let her in. It was late, too late for her. How could she be out of Downton at that ungodly hour? Did Mrs Hughes know? Had she sneaked out?

She never answered those questions.

She tried to convince me that there was nothing wrong in all this insanity while I tried to persuade her to go back to Downton any effort was futile and the more I wanted her to be sensible, the more she pushed me.

And pushed me, and pushed me. Until I kissed her.

I was weak.

We made love in our bed that night. Her soft moans, whimpers and cries sent me to heaven and in that moment, all I wanted was to keep her under the sheets until morning to show her all night how much I loved her but, minutes later we ended making love and after a soft, lingering kiss, she dressed up and left leaving my brain trying not to envision the hellish consequences of our act.

She came back to me once again asking for more of my soul and body. Enveloped in the dark of the night, she let arms encircle my waist from behind as I was about to close the pub. I turned around and drown in her kiss and pleas.

_- Just one more night, please_

I was weak for a second time.

* * *

><p>It's been two months since this madness began and each passing day she has grown bolder, increasing her power over me. I still have no idea how she managed it but, from that night on, she began waiting for me in my place.<p>

Sometimes, I find her making some tea in the little kitchen, wearing nothing but one of my shirts. I just stand there, leant against the door frame, admiring her bare legs and her blonde hair tumbled down.

Waiting is rewarded when finally she becomes aware of my presence, approaches me and, after dozens of sweet kisses, she leads me to the bathroom. Those long hours behind the bar without the cane leave me exhausted. Somehow, she senses it and, sometimes, draws me a bath with warm water.

My recovery begins long before I get into the tub; when she starts to undress me. I know she doesn't intend it but, that task makes me toss aside the need to have a relaxing bath. Instead, I suggest her to join me, but she hears none of it and urges me to get inside.

She can be quite insensitive with a tired old man pleas.

_- You'll feel better afterwards_

I'd rather feel better at that moment, with her. Not later.

When she leaves, I always promise myself that it won't be more than 5 minutes, but when the warmth water envelopes me I succumbed. I'd dare to admit that the feeling is so good that sometimes I briefly forget that she's in the apartment. Fortunately, the water tends to get cold quickly and I waste no time to hurry back to the warmth of her body.

She always waits for me in the bedroom and as usual, my shirt is still on her body. When she sees me, she leaves whatever she's doing, makes me sit on the bed and straddles me, sitting on my thighs. She proceeds then to dry my arms, my face, my chest… everything except my hair. She loves it wet. It's one of the things I have learned since our secret encounters started.

Meanwhile, my hands are busy unbuttoning the damn shirt, anxious to uncover the beauty I've been craving since her last visit.

After a moment relishing in her body scent, I trail kisses from her throat down to between her small pert breasts. I caress them, cupped them, tease them and finally, when the sensitive peaks emerge from the attentions received, I take them into my mouth.

I hear her gasp briefly and unconsciously, moves forward, allowing me to encircle her waist with my arms.

_- Please John. I need to… do this. You'll get a cold. You have to…_

No more words are heard when I begin to suck her nipple lightly, my tongue trying its delicious taste. Instead she begins to breathe heavily and long unrestrained moans escape her mouth.

Sometimes, when I get home I can hear her humming and I smile for I know exactly where she is; relaxing in the bath tub. The sound stops when she hears the tap of my cane on the floor.

I always imagine her there, her body glistening with water and uncovered beneath the surface, her hair up in a loose bun. She smiles at me when she sees me and then carries on with such an intimate moment. I observe her for a couple of minutes and then leave.

I wait for her in the room, eager to repay her undivided attention of other occasions. It doesn't take long for her to emerge from the bathroom, claiming she's cold.

_-__We__ can__'__t__ have__ that,__ can__ we?_

I undressed and sit on the bed with my back on the wall and she joins me with her back on my chest. I always try to hold back the desire and make up some conversation while I dry her but soon words are replaced by caresses, more and more adventurous and less and less innocent each second passed.

Sometimes, she lets her hand wander down between her legs I'm so entranced by her daring that I withdraw my hand and become a mere spectator. She's a fast learner, an avid learner and soon I begin to witness how one of her fingers disappears momentarily inside her with mounting rhythm.

I kiss and suck across the skin of her shoulder towards her ear where I whisper.

_- Bet you've been practising a lot in your room_

But she barely listens to me as she is so close to the edge. I chuckle and, while one of my hands is busy caressing her breasts, the other one moves down to cover hers and help. It doesn't take long for her to reach the edge and release herself.

Sometimes I find her already on the bed, with nothing on her body, eagerly waiting for me. She's truly a vision and I'm so weak that I waste to time to get rid of my clothes and go to her.

She's so deliciously wet already that I slide into her easily and soon I get engulfed by her warmth and aroused by her youthful tightness. As the explosion of pleasure after that first contact fades away, she begs me to own her.

But I don't own her; she owns me, controls me. A weak man in her hands and body.

Sometimes we made it fast and hard; sometimes, slow and gentle; each time unique in its perfection and, when it's over, I relish in the embrace I share with her.

I know then that if I could choose a moment to die, it would be that instant; enveloped in the warmth of her body connected with mine; the softness of her hands lazily exploring the skin of my my back; the love of her kisses in my forehead.

And I would die as a happy weak man.

If there's only one thing that can away from her in those moments is something as earthy as hunger. The passion that simmers and burns me inside when I see her blinds me and makes me forget that I haven't eating since morning, but as soon as it fades away, I hear again my stomach complaining and rumbling.

Reluctantly, I leave her and go to the kitchen to prepare some tea and get cookies, the ones I know she loves. Sometimes, she accepts them greedily. Sometimes she's too tired to eat.

Then, I sit on a nearby chair to drink the tea and watch her. She lays curled on the bed with her hair mussed, looking at me with half closed eyes and a playful smile, provoking me. I know she wants me back in the bed with her and I try to fight back the urge to satisfy her wishes. That's when she changes her strategy.

She lies with her back flat on the mattress, ignoring me on purpose. By that point, she already knows about my weakness. She flexes her knees and stretches her worn out body off the bed, her back forming a delicious curve. By then, I'm already sat beside her, but she's still ignoring me, even when I drop my head and proceed to kiss every rib that gets visible when she stretches. Her plan turns out to be not very successful when I hear her soft cries as my mouth tastes one of her breasts.

For a brief second, I think I have won.

Men are simple creatures compare to women and victory is definitely hers when I catch a glimpse of her hand between her legs, moving rhythmically.

Any coherent thought has vanished and I remove her hand hastily and position myself between her legs, claiming something is not mine yet to take. Again.

John Bates, you're so weak.

Of course, there are days when we are more friends than lovers. Sat on the sofa or the bed, she tells me about life at Downton. Apparently I'm being missed by almost every living soul of the house. I'm touched to hear that and I would gladly return to it. But Lord knows, it's not my decision to make.

I tell her about my dull life in the public house. Kirby Moorside is a nice place to live, but some days, the pub can be empty for hours, with nothing to do but cleaning glasses and tables.

Our chats tend to be light and I love making her laugh but there are days when I can help but feeling guilty. Remorse is always there haunting me every minute of my life since this started but when it seems I can't handle it, she comes to me to take me back to a harmless side of the reality.

Sometimes, we are in the same room, each of us in their own world; me reading the paper, she writing letters or sewing only stopping to share a smile or a cup of coffee.

I love quiet, peaceful times, those which make me feel less weak.

Sometimes we don't do anything. We just lay there on the bed, facing each other, drowning in each other's eyes and melting in each other's caresses.

We don't talk much. I prefer passing the time counting the freckles that dot her nose while she plays idly with my chest hair. Normally, her touch is enough to want more of her, but at those moments, the only thing I wish is to be able to count her freckles for the rest of my life.

Sometimes I find her already sleeping in my bed. I can't take my eyes off her while I undress and prepare myself to join her.

When she feels me, she turns around to my embrace. I feel a light kiss in my neck and then she asks briefly about my day as she drapes her leg around my waist.

After some words, she drifts back to sleep and me with her.

Sometimes, I feel her in the middle of the night. She doesn't ask or checks if I'm asleep as she creeps up and covers my body with her own. In the dark I feel dozens of kisses scattered over my chest.

My waking state gets revealed when I can't help a low groan at the sensation of her teeth teasing my nipples. I her laugh and I join her but soon she silence me with a passionate kiss.

My hands graze the sides of her breasts and then, move to the lower part of her back. She sighs appreciatively figuring out my intentions and open her legs, inviting me where she wants me to be.

My fingers find their way towards the swollen area between her legs. I let out a groan as I feel how warm and sodden she already is. Gently, I part her slick folds and slide into her, seeking out the nub of her centre and when I get to it, I explore and stroke and work over it.

_- What do you want?_

She wants more so my exploration goes further. I begin to slip a finger inside and out of her. I hear her soft abandoned moans next to my ear and her fingers clutching my shoulders as her hips try to meet my hand, desperate for more contact.

When I feel how close she is, I pick pace and resume my caresses back to her swollen folds, her moans have now turned into whimpers and her breathing comes sharp.

Her pleasure has been mounting for an eternity and in a couple of seconds she shudders and releases it with a wanton cry.

I remove my hand and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her close. For a couple of minutes she doesn't say anything but my name, softly escaping from her lips. I kiss her and caress her back in loving return. When her trembling diminishes, I roll her to her side of the bed and soon she falls asleep in my embrace.

It always ends the same. She has to leave early in the morning in order to be in time at Downton. That's when reality takes advantage and I can't help but feel awful.

_This is unfair to her and I should put an end to this._

That's what I always think while she's in the bathroom getting ready, but when she comes back to me, fully dressed, I break down and I beg her silently to stay with me, forever.

I never say her anything for I know she would do it. She would leave everything for me and I have to be strong (at least, in those moments).

_- We can't carry on like this. I promise I'll fix this_

She knows someday I will, but before leaving, she comes to me for a final lingering kiss, letting me know that her unbreakable patience will be nourished next week.

And I accept it wholeheartedly

Because I'm a weak man.


End file.
